


Save the Last Dance (For Me)

by Mahoroba



Series: Avengers For Dinner [10]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9956927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahoroba/pseuds/Mahoroba
Summary: “I needed some time to think. And speaking of thinking,” he pulled you in close again, his lips near your ear, “I’ve got a proposition for you.”Tony clearly has something in mind for you. But what does this mean for how you feel about Clint Barton? And more importantly, what IS going between you and Steve? You thought you had it resolved, but in the face of temptation...





	1. You can dance (every dance with the guy who gives you the eye)

“What’s eatin’ ya, kid?” It was less a question, more of a statement.

 

His gruff voice brought you out of your revelry. Despite the slow song that was playing now, the dance was still young. Stepping into the ballroom (because of course the mansion had a ball room) was taking a step back in time. Ruby lips, swing dresses, and zoot suits as far as the eye could see. You, of course, fit right in, with your vintage (favorite color) swing dress, with its skirt that billowed breezily about your legs, back seam stockings, and low heels. The ballroom was crowded, bodies pressed close to one another now as the smooth song took the room away.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Everything is going off without a hitch. The ballroom looks fantastic, the kids look amazing, and somehow, somewhere – although I think you lost a bet, I’m dancing with you. What could possibly be wrong?”

 

He looked down at you. From the quirk of his eyebrows, it was clear he didn’t believe you.

 

“Isn’t it odd for you to be inquiring into my business, Logan?”

 

“Not if I can smell whatever it is eatin’ ya hanging all over ya and it’s making me lose count ‘o my steps.”

 

Now it was your turn to raise your brows. “Logan, you can’t tell me you were counting your steps.”

 

A gruff chuckle. “I’m an old man, kid. Been a while since I danced like this with anyone.”

 

“Well, you dance splendidly.” It wasn’t much of a lie – sure, he wasn’t as suave as Remy (who was currently dancing with Rogue), but for as rough as he was around the edges, Logan was surprisingly gentle and attentive. “And, honestly, nothing’s bothering me.” And, for the most part, it really wasn’t. The dance was the thing dreams were made out of - from the décor to the food, it didn’t get much better than this. And the fact you were surrounded by your friends and students? That’s what made it all perfect. It’s what reminded you of why you loved this school so much.

 

“Mmhmm.” You could tell he didn’t believe you. And unlike your Southerner friends, Logan wasn’t going to push the issue. 

 

Really, the dance was helping you to forget. Maybe not forget, but just “be” in a way you hadn’t been since you first darkened the Avengers Tower’s doorstep. You could dance without worrying about losing control of your abilities (since everyone here had essentially been “inoculated”), and, better yet, you were watching all of your hard work pay off. The kids (and the adults) were following the steps you’d shown them over the past weeks like it was second nature to them. 

 

“Seriously,” you started again, “Thank you, Logan, for all of your help. A little bird-”

 

“This ‘little bird’ wouldn’t happen to have a thing fer yellow coats, would she?”

 

You laughed, dipping your head low to Logan’s shoulder. “Yes, she does. But this little bird happened to tell me about a certain gruff somebody that stayed later to help her hang decorations, and, if the rumors are true, even helped out with glitter paint.” You looked at him, unable to stop the grin in your eyes. Far from being flustered, he looked at you with grim amusement before looking around the gym again.

 

“Kid’s enthusiasm is infectious.” 

 

All you could do was smile. He did, after all, have a point.

 

_______

 

The night, while still young for you, was getting to be a little late for the younger ones. Already, there was a growing collection of them filling up the chairs surrounding the ball room, lightly dozing on each other’s shoulders. A few of the older students were now starting to shepherd them out of the ballroom. Soon, it was the older students and the faculty left, still dancing as the music hadn’t stopped.

 

“Remy t’ink you’d rather be dancin’ wid someone else, vrai?”

 

“Well…” You looked up at him, a sly smile in your eyes.

 

“I saw you wid Logan. ‘Oh, he jes’ so dreamy’,” he cooed in a high pitched voice, “ ‘I wish de mountain man could take me away!’” 

 

You smacked him, gently, in the chest. “You’re a jerk. And you asked me to save you the last dance.” The two of you settled into the uptempo song playing with ease, and he lightly spun you around, before pulling you back into a smooth cha-cha step. Into the second verse of the song, he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut:

 

“Dis be a fair ‘mount better of a time than de last time we went dancing.” 

 

You snorted. In fact, you were tempted to step on his foot. You’d been doing so well in not thinking about a certain group of heroes stationed a little further in the city. And goddamn him, you weren’t about to start now.

 

 “Why would you want to ruin a girl’s good time?” You took a small side step, successfully averting that burning urge to step on his foot. 

He rock-stepped back, putting distance between the two of you. Holding you out, his red on black eyes scanned your face, the quirk of your mouth, and realized that he’d perhaps stepped a little out of bounds.

 

 “Aww, Sugarbee, Remy don’ mean nothin’ by it. Tonight gon’ be a good night. Even ol’ mean, dark, n’ hairy is getting into it.” He slowly spun you in his arms, turning you towards the corner of the dance floor. You bit your lip to stop from laughing. True to what he’d said, there was Logan being lead around the dance floor by a resplendent Jubilee in a sunny yellow dress. The sight of the two of them, a father and daughter team gone awry, made you smile. Relief crossed Remy’s face in a charming lop-sided grin, and he pulled you back in.

 

“ _Désolé_ ,” he sighed. “Remy honestly didn’t mean nothin’ by it. How you been?” He was probing, but you didn’t mind. Now seemed as good as a time as any.

 

“I…I’ve been all right. Been busy with the dance over the last week. Avengers have been out on a long mission.” You knew the latter  bit because of the news, not because anyone had called you. And after you took that skillet home, the first thing you did was make crawfish _etouffée_. And out of habit, again, you set a tupperware aside for Clint. 

 

“Tony hadn’t called?” He pulled you in closer. The warmth of his arms was comforting.

 

“Nope. Come on, Remy. You can’t expect a man like that to just take what happened in stride and be okay with it. We got…Things got heated.” Your cheeks grew hot remembering what happened. 

 

Remy raised an eyebrow. You didn’t say anything more. You knew he’d be able to put two and two together. He spun you out, then back in.

 

“So…you tell Baby Bird what happened yet?” Bless his heart, he was trying to be helpful - but he also wanted to know all of the dirty details. You could just feel it wafting off of him.

 

“I hadn’t talked to anyone since it happened. They’ve been busy, I’ve been busy-” He spun you so that your back was to his chest, did a quick step with you again, and spun you to face him. Your fingers were threaded with his. “I’ve been too scared to say anything,” you finally admitted. Getting what he wanted, his grin grew. 

 

“Well, seein’ dat ya at de dance now, after tonight, you’re not gonna have anythin’ ta hide behind.”

 

“I know, I know - I gotta piss or get off the pot.” He held your hand up for another spin, his grasp loose on yours, and taking the unspoken signal, you let go. Holding your hand up again for him to catch it, he grabbed it with ease. And spun you, a little faster than you had expected, back into him. You nearly collided with his chest, laughing as you pulled away to put some space between the two of you. 

 

And balked.

 

Because, holding your hand, was Tony Stark, dressed to kill in a period accurate suit, a red carnation pinned to his lapel.

 

“Oh, come on!” you exclaimed. Twice with him, and both at dances? Lord, this couldn't be good.

 

“Sad to see me, Scarlet?”

 

You looked over your shoulder. Remy was standing behind you, every bit as surprised as you were. 

 

“I..uh…I didn’t think you’d want to see me again,” you stammered, stumbling as Tony brought you back into step with the song.

 

“I needed some time to think. And speaking of thinking,” he pulled you in close again, his lips near your ear, “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

 


	2. You can smile - every smile for the man (who held your hand ‘neath the pale moon light)

“A ‘proposition’?” You hoped you didn’t sound as suspicious as you felt. The fact that Tony just magically showed up in the middle of what was supposed to be your blissfully free of the Avengers time already had your head spinning. Anything else he could have said could only make it worse.

“Indeed – but it’s going to have to wait. My adoring public beckons,” he breathed in your ear, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. It would seem that even in a “quiet” moment, Tony was still Tony. His entrance to the dance floor hadn’t gone unnoticed – and now, with the song ending, he was the center of raucous applause, cheers, and wolf-whistles. Stunned, you were unable to move from your spot on the floor, the feel of his lips still burning on your cheek. Tony was blissfully unaware, swarmed by students, all wanting his autograph, to shake his hand. The revitalized core of the party.

“Leave it to Tony Stark to make the best entrance,” came a familiar voice. Turning, you gaped again, not sure if your senses were still working properly. Behind you was Steve, impeccably charming and handsome as a Golden Age of Hollywood dream in his suit, white carnation pinned to the lapel to Tony’s red. With a small smile, he looked down at his feet, then at you, holding his hand out.

“Would you…?” He trailed off, unsure with himself if he wanted to continue. Above the din of the kids, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice wound through smoothly. You smiled, feeling your cheeks warm up. What was a dance between friends, after all? You took a few steps forward, stopping yourself from running to him and capturing him in a bone-crushing hug. He was more golden than you remembered him, more dream-like than he’d been weeks past, when you first stumbled into the Tower and literally landed in his arms.

Now, inches away from him, you allowed your hand to settle into his. His fingers curled around your hand gently. The two of you stood there, holding each other’s hand, making no move to start the dance.

“You’re going to have to take the lead,” he finally said, shyly. “Never did get around to learning how.”

“I think I can manage that.”

____

Steve was a quick learner. By the second verse, he’d taken the lead with ease. Unlike Tony, there was no surplus of confidence, but an endearing shyness. Steve had a habit of ‘checking in’ – he’d look at you before he wanted to try something, or to make sure that you were smiling, enjoying yourself.

It was absolutely heartwarming. 

The more he began to feel the music, the more he began to enjoy himself, the more his smile grew, and the more confident his steps became. When the opening piano of ‘Love me or Leave Me’ started, you paused. He slowed as well, giving you a quizzical look.

“It’s a faster song,” you offered. But you were already starting to sway with the quicker pace.

“Sounds like a challenge.” The flush of pride on his face was irresistible.

“Well,” you stammered, not quite sure where you were going to go with this. “…Well, all right then!” He pulled you closer, and you could feel your pulse throb in your ears from the renewed contact. _Friends. Just friends. Thing with Clint._

“Ah…you’re going to have to let me go so I can show you,” you murmured into his chest, resisting the urge to keep your face there. It was just so good to see him. He smelled wonderful, sunshine bright.

“Sorry,” he quickly said, letting you slip free. Was it just your imagination, or did he seem as reluctant to let go as you were?

You moved from side to side, foot to foot, giving him an idea of the root of the tempo. He watched your feet attentively, then began to nod along with the tempo of the music. He stepped closer, his hands out in a “may I” gesture. You stepped into him, not wanting to lose the movement of the song. His hands moved to settle on your waist, then shifted, one moving to your shoulders, the other staying at the line of your waist. Then they moved again, heavy against the fabric of your dress. From your sides, he moved so that his hands were in yours. He was moving with you now, sufficiently warmed up from the slow dance before. He positively beamed down at you, thrilled with his new skill – and you were done for. You stepped on his foot, lost in staring at that smile.

He grimaced playfully. “Better you than me,” he offered kindly. Realizing what happened, you felt your face burn.

“Oh, Steve, hun, I’m so sorry,” you stammered. “I was distracted.” As if you couldn’t embarrass yourself further.

To his credit, Steve’s returning smile was kind – still full of the joy of new knowledge – and, in response, he launched you into an effortless spin. Whirling back to him, your face must have said it all.

“Quick study,” he said.

After that, no additional words were needed.

____

“After you left, Tony called us all together. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so rattled. Insofar as Tony being ‘rattled’ goes,” Steve mused, taking a small sip of punch from his cup. The two of you were leaning against the wall now, watching the rest of the students and staff dance. It turned out that all of the Avengers had showed up. 

Tony was being dragged around the floor by Jubilee (who was managing to dance and instagram the whole thing) Thor was surrounded by the younger ones, and appeared to be telling them stories of Asgard. Bruce and Henry were talking in a quiet corner, and Natasha, magnificent in a deep red mermaid dress, was standing on the edge of the dance floor. One after another, the boys looked at her, looked as if they were going to ask her to dance, but backed off. Figures that an intrepid Kitty Pryde would be the one to finally break the ice and get Natasha to dance with her. The result was charming – with Natasha taking the lead, and Kitty’s face a pleasant pink.

Clint was nowhere to be found.

“I don’t blame him…That’s what I get for assuming that you all knew. You know what they say when you ‘assume’,” you sighed, drinking from your cup. The punch bowls had been neatly divided into “spiked” and “not spiked” – and remembering what happened whenever you drank around the Avengers, you’d deftly steered Steve and yourself to the not-spiked bowl.

Steve chuckled lightly. “If I didn’t know it caused so much trouble, I’d say it was well worth it to see Tony without words.” His gaze was out on the floor as well, that gentle smile on his lips. Remy had ambled up to Natasha with a debonair bow, offering her his hand. She seemed amused, before she took the invitation. You paused. Crossed your legs neatly at the ankles, and leaned harder on the wall. Might as well just throw it all in.

“So…what exactly did he tell you?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know – that you had already told me. The emotional component of your…”

“Mutation. You can say ‘mutation’ and I won’t get offended. I _am_ a mutant,” you laughed, elbowing him lightly in the side.

He looked relieved. “The emotional competent of your mutation. Truth be told, I think he was angrier at the rest of us for knowing and not telling him. I took it as an opportunity to work on our communication skills.”

You shared his look of relief. Good. Tony hadn’t spilled ALL of the details. From the little you _actually_ knew of Tony (outside of the press releases, tabloids, and unfounded(?) rumors) – he wasn’t one to talk about…intimate things. Not really intimate things. He was more of an innuendo and bombastic story type of guy. Lightly, you smacked your open palm with the bottom of your cup. You were an idiot - you’d been in his head (somewhat) – that meant you definitely weren’t giving him enough credit. Tony didn’t tell _anyone anything_.

“Should he have said something else?” Steve’s look was curious. He was too good natured for it to run to the salacious, and too good of a person to look instantly suspicious.

“Nah,” you said, a little too quickly for your own tastes. Masking it with a sip from your cup, you shrugged your shoulders. “If some good came of the whole thing, then I’m glad,” and you honestly were. “I can’t begin to tell you how surprised I was to see you guys here. Especially Tony. I didn’t think he’d ever speak to me again.”

“Oh, this? We’ve known about it for weeks. You didn’t ever look in that paperwork that Professor Xavier sent over, did you?” It was his turn to look surprised now. Your look was sufficiently sheepish.

“The professor never even hinted that it was stuff I needed to know?” It sounded lame. In your defense, though, you respected privacy!

“I think it worked out better this way, anyway.” He leaned over, placed an affectionate hand on your shoulder. “I got to see you in your element. You really do have a gift.” You smiled, your cheeks growing warm under his praise. 

“Thanks, Steve. That really does mean a lot to me,” and you let your gaze drift back out over the floor, watching the dance. “How did you guys manage to get in so quietly? I would have thought the whole floor would have lost their mind to see THE Avengers here at our school!”

Steve laughed, warmly. “Part of the ‘plan.’ Tony’s been in contact with Professor Xavier. Tony insisted on the kids keeping quiet, to play a joke on Miss (your name). It was meant to be a big surprise from the kids.” He turned to you, his eyes luminous in the dull ballroom light. “I’d say the best part of the night was just watching you. You’re so different with them…I can tell you really love this place. The kids. The people.”

You felt your face growing warm again. You inched closer to Steve, bumping his arm with your side. Picking on the unspoken signal, Steve lifted his arm, and draped it around you. Closer to his side now, you let out a soft sigh of contentment.

“I missed you,” he said, softly.

“I missed you too, Steve.” His arm tightened around you, and you melted into his grasp.


	3. Go and have your fun

Even the arrival of Tony Stark couldn’t keep the kids from fading. And more and more, they peeled away from the floor, girls with heels in their hands, boys doing their best to be gallant, heading towards their respective rooms. The faculty drifted off as well – Jean and Scott citing an early morning (fair), Logan, not wanting to do clean up duty (also fair), and so on, until it seemed that it was just you left on the floor. Normally, you would have bailed on clean up duty as well. However, you found yourself not wanting to leave the ballroom. Not just yet. You started  by picking up a crumpled napkin here, a paper plate there. After making a pile of trash, it just seemed easier to get a trash bag from the kitchen.

The DJ, being a stellar kind of guy, left the music going even as the ballroom slowly emptied out. With the music still going and no one to dance with, you swayed with the bag in hand, kneeling on occasion to pick up a discarded cup or a bit of streamer. Considering that nearly the entire school had been here, the place wasn’t as trashed as you thought it may have been. The Avengers had gone off somewhere (you didn’t feel too guilty for not noticing – as things wound down, your ‘services’ as a dancer suddenly became in great demand, and you’d spent the last hour or so dancing with one student after another), and, personally, you were glad to have the time and space to yourself. It’d been great to see Steve (beyond great, really), and Tony hadn’t come back around, so he probably forgot whatever it was he was getting at. 

Kneeling to get at a particularly stubborn streamer that was coiled around a table leg, you nearly fell backwards when a hand lifted up the table cloth for you.

“The last time I checked, Cinderella didn’t have to clean up after the ball.”

And, for the third time that night, you paused, shocked still. And looked to your side, from where the voice had come from. And, kneeling beside you, in a suit that had perhaps seen better days, a fresh band-aid across his nose and a black eye fading into yellow and green, was Clint Barton, holding up the table cloth.

You dropped the plastic bag.

“Sorry I’m late; got caught up on the East side and- oof!” He was cut off as you launched yourself at him, knocking him backwards onto the floor. Cups and streamers went everywhere.

“Clint Barton, you utter asshole,” you muttered into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, a hand settling on the crown of your head.

“Look, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he started, but you sat up, put a finger against his lips.

“Me too, Barton. Baby bird,” you added, softer, “Look, things have gotten all kinds of cattywampus, but I think I’m in like with you, and I’ve been too chicken shit to say anything about it, but I kept missing you somethin’ awful when you weren’t around, and I got so used to just seeing you and us just being us without anything like superpowers or Avengers, shooting the shit and watching bad movies and your horrible massages but oddly bizarre amazing crafting skills and-”

It was his turn to cut you off, silencing you with a kiss. It was fumbling, awkward, and the two of you were still in the middle of the ballroom floor, trash scattered around your bodies. But it was absolutely perfect.

Perfect, and long.

It was long enough for your breathing to match his, for his fingers to slip through your hair, snag on a bobby pin, for him to grumble in annoyance and, deceptively soft, yank said bobby pin from your hair so he could run his fingers through it easier. Long enough for the kiss to deepen, a tentative parting of his lips, an uncertain stroke of his tongue. You opened your mouth eagerly - had to make up for lost time. All the time that this could have been the norm. His tongue rubbed against your own, and he tasted of sweet mint. His arms wrapping tighter around you, it was with a soft huff into the kiss that he switched your positions, and you were now under him, his lips leaving yours long enough to place a soft kiss on your nose. You smiled, and, under the dull lights of the ball room, his eyes glinted with warm mischief. His lips were on yours again, his hands tender on the side of your face, coaxing you up higher into him. Breaking the kiss, he touched his forehead to yours. Lifting up, he looked down at you. His pupils were deep pools of black, intent on you. His fingers twitched against your cheeks, an unusual movement from such a steady handed man. Gathering courage, he kept his left hand on the side of your face, his right moving up to course through your hair. Then, down the side of your neck. Across the strap of your dress. His left hand mirrored the actions of the right, settling on the sides of your chest, ghosting across the curves of your breasts, before slipping down your sides to settle on your hips.

A stumbling press of his hips into yours, and you could feel him growing hard under his dress pants. His face suddenly flushed pink. He opened his mouth to say something, but you ground your hips insistently up into his. You were growing slick, feeling him like this against you. You were starting to tumble headlong, not even having to peer into his emotional aura to grow dizzy from the emotion he was feeding you. 

But.

As much as you wanted to explore that particular part and as much as your lower body was starting to throb with need, you shook your head. Put your right hand over his, keeping it pinned to the curve of your stomach. Undaunted, his left skimmed down your thigh, inched under the hem of your dress. With a laugh, you stopped it with your other hand. 

“Clint, we’re in the middle of a dance floor. In a school.”

“So?” his voice was muffled, his face pressed against the side of your neck, nipping at the soft skin there, then your earlobe. It was getting hard to form coherent thoughts.

“Baby bird, we can’t.” You squirmed beneath him, trying to lightly shift him off of you. He moved his face from the crook of your neck, and he groaned, dramatically. But he sat up, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up with him. And then pulled you into his lap. Shifting (because at this point, all decorum was lost), you wrapped your legs around his waist, settling your skirt so you weren’t giving the room (albeit, empty) a show. 

“God, say it again,” he purred, kissing your neck again.

“Baby bird.”

“Again.” He bucked his hips into yours now, the heat of him grinding directly against the heat of your core. You held back a moan.

“I never thought a grown man would get so turned on by such a ridiculous nickname,” you stammered, as he rolled his hips into yours with a smoothness that was criminal. He pressed hardest where you throbbed the most, and right before you could truly savor it, he lightened up, merely ghosting against you. Your panties were soaked. 

“You love it when I call you ‘Sugarbee.’” God, his voice. Damn all the internet surveys that ranked Hawkeye last when it came to sex appeal; the things he was doing to you right now should be illegal.

“I can’t argue with you there.” Your thoughts were starting to jumble from logic to _jesus god just fuck me in the middle of this floor and god this is not kosher the kids what if someone comes in oh lord Logan can probably smell this -_

You pressed your fingers against Clint’s lips before they latched to yours again. “Look, shouldn’t we take this a little slow? A lot of stuff has happened since I last saw you..”

 

“Why?” His words were garbed as he pressed kisses to your finger tips. “Everything’s out in the open. I’ve been waiting for this…” His eyes lifted to yours. Vulnerable and intense at the same time. He would never cease to surprise you. “Is this about that thing between you and Rogers? I already know. We had a heart to heart over a spar session. Total guy talk.”

 

You blinked, astonished. Clint smirked, moving your fingers from his mouth. “Cap’s a stand up guy. Wanted things to be fair. Told me what happened after you two went to the movies.”

 

“Yeah, but did T-” you were cut off again as he kissed you, his tongue darting into your mouth. There was more to say, and you meant to say it, just…you just..wanted to enjoy this a little longer. His tongue slipped against yours, and your fingers tangled in his hair again, pulling him hard into you. Your teeth clattered together, ungracefully, and the two of you parted, rubbing your mouths, laughing.

 

“Sooo…there’s gotta be a closet around here somewhere, right?” His smile was infectious.

 

“…I think there’s one down the hallway,” you answered. Because why not?


	4. Can't you feel it when we touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a double update!

Because Clint was so easy going, it was easy to forget that he was an Avenger, and therefore, one of the best heroes in the world. Which clearly meant that he could be quiet / sneaky when he damn well wanted to be.

 

Once you’d told him where the closet was, he’d lightly pulled you to your feet, and lead the way. His footsteps were swift and silent, and between each moment that the two of you comically snuck around the shadows of the largely dark hallway, he kissed you. Quick, heated kisses, each a distinct signature of the man himself. Tony had been molten lava confidence, Steve unsure – muted. Clint was a mix of emotions so powerful that you couldn’t help but to pick up on them, even with your powers “turned down.” His kisses were fumbling, seeking reassurance, barely restrained lust and longing and a dozen other things. Each kiss he left you with, the more your head swam. By the time the two of you reached the closet, you were breathing as heavily as if you’d just run a mile. Stopping, he opened the door with a flourish. “After you, m’lady,” and he folded his other arm behind him as primly as a butler. Snorting, you squeezed past him into the closet. It was a small space – not really meant for bodies, but perfect for brooms and mops, both of which you nearly tripped over trying to arrange yourself in the tight space. Clint followed you, much more nimbly, and after a few good tugs, managed to close the door. The faint light from the hallway vanished, and the two of you were plunged into complete, inky darkness.

 

You were wedged against each other, a broom handle prodding you in the back, his chest smashed into yours.

 

“You know, I was thinking this was going to be a little more romantic,” he shifted, the loud clatter of a plastic bucket a dead giveaway.

 

“You asked specifically for a ‘closet’,” you mused, wiggling to move the broom away from your back. “So you got a closet.”

 

“By the size of the house, I was imagining a luxurious, walk in type of deal, with a bunch of space on the floor.” You couldn’t see him, but you knew he was waggling his eyebrows at you.

 

“ ‘Space on the floor’, hm? Aren’t we being a might presumptuous?” You pillowed your breasts into his chest. “We still have a lot to talk about.”

 

“Later,” he half-huffed, sighed. “Can you just..” As close as you were, he still managed to wrangle his arms around you, pulling you so tight against his body that you could feel the firm lines of his body beneath the rumpled lines of his suit, thigh to thigh, stomach to stomach. “Just…” He trailed off. 

 

As dark as it was, it wasn’t hard to find the lines of his face using your fingertips. From the curve of his ear down the square of his jaw, covered with a light stubble, the beginning of the band-aid across his nose. Your fingers traced the line of his lips, only to have him catch your finger between them, and suck gently. Pressing your hand against the side of his face, he continued to suck as you ran your thumb over his upper lip. Sliding your finger from his mouth, you leaned forward, only half-aware that you could fall. Stumbling a little, Clint held you firm, tilting your head up to his and kissed you. His mouth was soft against yours, his hands kneading into your back before a sudden shift, and his left hand firmly grasped onto your rear, pulling you into him. Following his lead, you moved your arms around his neck for additional leverage, and wrapped a leg around his waist, pressing your sex into his crotch. He was hard again, and groaned into the kiss, bucking into you. The hand on your rear snaked round to the top of your thigh, to finger at the top of the waist band of your panties. His fingers were sure, calloused by years of hard work, and slowly, they worked under the waist band, caressing your bare skin.

 

With another insistent bump of his hips into yours, he took a step forward, waiting for you to match his steps. With the one leg you still had down on the ground, you took a step backwards. Without breaking the kiss, he hummed his assent, and stumbling, bit by bit, he moved forward, not losing his grip on you, until your back was against the wall.

 

“Better,” he groaned, so softly you could barely hear him. Now, both hands looped under you, to grasp firmly onto your rear as he pushed you up against the door, holding you in place with his hips pressed hard into yours. With the additional leverage of the door, you were able to wrap both of your legs around his waist, your arms still around his neck. Leaning your head down in the direction of his breathing, you kissed him, tentatively rocking your hips into his to get an idea of how to move in this new position. The slightest stroke of him against your core was enough to make you quiver. Growling low into your kiss, his hips ground back into yours, establishing a slow rhythm. Each press against him stimulated your clit, made your core clench with anticipation. Absolutely agonizing, he made no move his hands from your butt, to lift up your skirt higher, to move your panties, god, to do anything, to relieve the pressure that was steadily building. Panting, you pulled your mouth from his. He caught your lower lip gently between his teeth, letting go only when you whined.

 

“Please, Clint, baby bird, I need…”

 

“I know,” his voice was husky, low. Strained. “Not enough room to do what I really want to do to you-”

 

“Make do with what we have,” you practically begged, you were so hot, and he hadn’t stop grinding against you, and you were sure, by now, that there was a huge damp spot on the front of his pants from you. “I need you-”

 

He cut you off with a strangled sob, pressing you hard against the door, jarring it against its hinges. As loud as it was, you weren’t hurt in the slightest.

 

“You too, God,” he groaned into the crook of your neck. “You gotta…” One hand slipped from under you, groped at the front of his pants. Trying to accommodate him, you let your left leg slip from around him and settle on the ground to steady yourself. One arm, then the other, let go of his neck as you reached down to hitch up your skirt, and tugged your panties down. In the midst of the rustle of clothing, you could hear him sigh. 

 

“You good…?” he asked, after an eternity.

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Good.” His hands were against you now, against the thicket of curls. A finger slipped between the cleft of your lips, and stroked. He didn’t enter you, not yet - his finger ran lazy trails up and down the plump lips of your labia, sliding along them the wetter you got. Sighing, you rocked your hips into him, asking, begging for more, and damn him, he moved his finger away, higher now, to graze against your swollen clit. You moaned aloud now, not even trying to be quiet. He pinned you against the door again, wordlessly. You could feel his bare cock, hard and twitching, against your navel. He leaned over you, his finger gliding from your clit to your lips, to dipping between them, to tracing your entrance. Small, tight circles, slowly at first, then, speeding up, as you grew wetter. Stars were beginning to spark behind your closed eyelids, and you were dimly aware that you were panting his name intermixed with his nickname, nearly senseless. Pressing the palm of his hand into your crotch, he slipped a finger deep within you, and crooked it forward, rubbing against your g-spot. 

 

His name left you in a shrill, breathless shriek.

 

“You ready for me?” It was half-teasing, half-statement.

 

“Whu…?” 

 

He laughed, the sound warming your heart.

 

“Alley oop,” and he was lifting you again, like you weighed nothing. Instinctively, your legs went round his waist again. The swelled head of his cock slipped against your lips, brushing past them, and you weren’t sure who moaned louder, you or him. You shifted atop him, adjusting yourself so that you could feel the tip of him brush against your entrance. Once, twice, he brushed just past your entrance.

“This is hard without hands,” he muttered into your shoulder. 

 

“Clint. Fuck me.”

 

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Beneath you, his hips pushed up, the tip of him slipping into you - and then something on him started buzzing. And flashing.

 

Your body was screaming at you to take him all the way into him, the gentle upwards press of his hips was working more and more of his cock into you, but only a little bit at a time, you’d barely taken him in past his head, and already it was hurtling you towards an orgasm. Just beneath his head, you could feel him swell further, could tell how thick he was - 

 

“Feathers, I know you’re getting this.” Tony’s voice cut through - and you started swearing a blue streak.

 

“And I guess that’d be our Scarlett with you,” Tony dryly quipped.

 

“This better be good, Stark,” Clint snarled with such ferocity that you jumped a little. Which, in turn, made you slide down his cock a bit more, and before either one of you could stop, you both let out positively pornographic moans.

 

“Wow, okay, did not need to hear that. But this is official Avengers business. Scarlett, you gotta come too.”

 

“I was about to,” you snapped. His face between your breasts, you could feel Clint laughing.

 

“Clever girl. But seriously, kids, put it back in your pants and get here pronto. Life or death situation.” And Tony’s voice and the light was gone.

 

Lifting his head away from your chest, Clint sighed. You squirmed on top of him, trying to work him further into you. With a pained sigh, Clint grasped onto your butt, keeping you in place.

 

“God, Sugar, I hate to do this…”

 

You tilted your head back hard. It hit the door with a satisfying thump. Never mind how much it hurt.

 

“Avengers duty, I know, I know…”

 

“Do you, though?” The hands on your ass pulled you into him, that much more of his thick length slipping into you. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders. 

 

“Clint,” you growled. “Don’t. Not unless you’re going to finish this.”

 

“Avengers business.” He sounded less convinced. “But he said for you to come.”

 

“Do I have to repeat the joke?”

 

Up against the door, you couldn’t figure out the best way out of your current position. You’d have to get off of him - but the space was limited, and his body was keeping you right there. Thankfully (but not really), Clint seemed to have figured it out, and, showing surprising strength, he half-squatted, his hands still under you, and stood up again, using the momentum to help lift you off of him. Your legs unwinding from his waist, you staggered a little, before standing up under your own volition. And instantly began reaching down from your panties. They felt like they were still tangled around your ankle. As you focused (and tried to keep your temper from getting the best of you) on getting dressed, you could hear him (and occasionally bumped into him) doing the same thing. 

 

“So…can we finish this later? In maybe not a closet?” His voice was hopeful, as he reached for the door knob.

 

“Baby bird, you read my mind. Let’s see whatever the fuck Tony wanted.”

 

Your hair was a mess. What was left of your lipstick was half-way across your face, the rest of it on Clint’s mouth and collar. His shirt was half-way untucked, and his suit was shabbier than when he first showed up. You were pretty sure you’d tucked half of your dress into the back of your panties.

 

But overall, things were pretty great. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it might be a while before I post the next part :x
> 
> Tony, you cock / clit block. Shame on you.


	5. You can dance, go and carry on (till the night is gone)

“You got a little something-”

 

“Right there-”

 

“Lemme get that for you-”

 

“Your shirt tail is zipped up in your fly-”

 

“Gonna get rid of it here in a minute-”

 

“Isn’t that hot-”

 

“I dunno how that guy in Metropolis does it-”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“The guy that flies. Wears blue and red. Pretty sure he has to wear that get up under his normal clothes-”Clint’s voice was muffled as he discarded his suit shirt, revealing the black and purple of his Avenger “uniform.” You were scrubbing the remnants of your make up from your face, using a handful of Kleenex. So far, the only thing you were doing was making a worse mess of your face. 

 

You weren’t entirely surprised to arrive at the Avengers Tower to find the place dark and deserted; life or death thing, right? But maybe it was a littllleeee surprising that it was “life or death,” and they’d left without Clint - without saying where he could meet them. But on the other hand, why look a gift horse in the mouth? Clint needed to get ready – and that meant you could watch him strip in the comfort (and very child-free) Avengers common room.

 

“I dunno why Tony wanted me to come – STOP.” Clint had begun to snicker the minute you said “come.” You raised your fist in a threatening gesture. He held out his hands, silently asking for a truce even as he continued to grin, straightening out his shirt over his stomach. Man, those abs. He must’ve caught you oogling him, for his grin grew as long as a country mile. He sat down on the couch, and patted the space next to him. You practically ran to sit next to him, snuggling closer into him.

 

He lifted up his shirt a bit, exposing the cut lines of his stomach, the fine blonde hair that started under his navel and darkened as it slipped under the waist band of his pants. Without a sound, he took your hand, and placed it on his stomach. Too surprised to blush, you ran your fingers down the ridges of muscle, and let out of a long sigh of contentment. He stretched back, his eyes drifting shut, obviously enjoying the caress. Unable to resist, you delicately climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. His eyelids lazily lifted, taking you in with a mix of contentment and desire. Then, he looked horrified. Flabbergasted, you leaned up, preparing to get off of him. He quickly snatched your hands, holding you in place.

 

“Sugartron!” he suddenly boomed. You were sure your eyebrows were raised so high that they vanished into your hairline. 

 

“ ‘Sugartron?’” you finally managed. 

 

“You have to have a villain sounding name. Stick ‘tron’ on the end of anything and it becomes five times more evil. Try it.”

 

“Uh…Toaster-tron…?”

 

“Oh no, Toaster-tron! Burns the innocents of Breadville!”

 

You snorted, wriggling your hands in his grasp. He kept them firm on his stomach.

 

“Your wiles won’t work on me, Sugartron, no matter how hard you may try!” 

 

You smiled. Wiggled your hands again in his grasp. Satisfied that you weren’t going anywhere, Clint let go. You ran your hands further under his shirt. From the defined lines of his pectorals to the silken skin of his nipple, you only smiled harder when he let out a soft moan, the nub growing firm beneath your fingers.

 

“Oh, but even you, the mightiest Avenger, will succumb to the great Sugartron!” It was surprisingly easy to play along, and with the way Clint just _melted_ under your touch, you weren’t about to go anywhere any time soon. Slipping your right hand from his nipple, you reached down and under, slipping your panties off. He watched you, and as the silk of them slipped down your bare leg, he groaned in earnest, his head tilting back into the pillow.

 

“Sugartron…”

 

“So…” You leaned down, letting the playful tones fade from your voice, “we probably really, really shouldn’t. Even though this isn’t a closet. And we have a little more room.”

 

His hand eased between the two of you, under your dress, grazed against your damp folds.

 

“Oh yeah?” Deftly, he parted your folds, let a finger slip between your lips and pressed, gently, down on your clit. You rocked forward, your head going to his shoulder. His left hand brushed against your shoulders, before cupping at the small of your back and holding you close.

 

“Baby birddddddd, Avengers duty,” you drawled, all the while, pushing your hips more into the hand teasing your clit. 

 

“I think the world can wait a while longer.” He leaned up, his lips finding yours. His touch was tender. Easing into him, your breath left you in a long sigh. Cupping the sides of his face between your hands, you broke the kiss.

 

“Clint, come on…You need to…” A twist of his fingers. The pressure on your clit moved from feather-light to firm, another finger of his slipping into you with ease. You cried out, tilting your head back.

 

“I need to what…?” His voice was a soft growl. “God, you’re so wet…”

 

“Need to…Avengers…” you were panting harshly now, rocking your hips in time with his touch in you, into the rhythm of his finger. “Fuck,” you groaned. You needed more. You could feel your powers starting to leech from you - but at least this time, there was no risk of hitting some unsuspecting person with them. 

 

“God, your sense of commitment to duty astounds me, Sugarbee. If it’d been me, I would’ve called it ages ago.”

 

You jumped, nearly kneeing Clint in the jaw. Clint weaved out of the way with a swear.

 

“Damn it, Tony; your timing sucks.” Clint’s tone was dangerous. His arms were protective around you, one hand slipping to cup your butt, keeping your dress down over it.

 

“ ‘A wizard is never late.’ Or something like that.” Tony sauntered from the corner of the darkened room, a glass in his hand. “Scarlett! Glad to see you. Think you lost something there.” He pointed at your feet, to where your panties were balled. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, and slowly, you started to reach down to at least push them out of direct eyesight. Clint’s hands on you kept you from moving. They inched higher up your ass, exposing the bottom curve, teasing, proving, that yes, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you had on no panties. 

 

“No, no, it’s fine. I like them there.” Tony crossed the threshold of the room, then sat down unceremoniously next to you.  You swatted Clint’s hand away so you could tug down the hem of your dress.  Glared at him. Far from looking ashamed, he had a smug grin on his face. His hands returned to your butt again. With a warning look from you, they stayed at the bottom of your ass, with a finger occasionally slipping past the fine line of the fabric to your bare skin.

 

You could have been imaging it, but it seemed like Tony was enjoying the show. You cleared your throat. His eyes, which had drifted to follow the movement of Clint’s hands, darted back to your face. His focus returned, and he took a long swallow from the glass in his hand.

 

“You know, I said I had a proposition for you, Sugar, and I meant that. Got a little tied up in the dance…and before Legolas got there, I wanted to run it by him. Since you seem to be sweetest on him the most.” Tony’s eyes, to his credit, never left your face this go round, though you could feel Clint inching your skirt up higher again.You opened your mouth, but Tony wagged a finger at you. “I don’t take offense. But I am crushed, I tell ya, just crushed, that you didn’t follow up on what I wanted.”

 

Words were slow in coming. “I thought…the club…getting in your head,” you started, words falling over one another.

 

“Yeah…Yeah.” He looked into the depths of his glass, before turning his attention back to you. “I was mad. Hurt. A lot of things. Still not sure how I feel about it, if you want me to be honest. But…the things I saw from you-” His eyes were on yours, before they trailed down the lines of your body like his hands were already on you.

 

_Oh, god._

 

The color drained from your face, to be replaced by a blush so intense you thought your face was going to melt right off. Clint kissed your collar bone. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be upset with how calm (and disturbingly quiet) he was, or if you were intrigued. Decidedly, your curiosity won out.

 

“So…?”

 

“The ‘Avengers’ business thing, was, clearly, a ruse to get you here. To listen to what I had to say. I told Clint about what happened at the dance club.”

 

You weren’t sure if you should be mortified, distraught, enraged, or what.

 

“Buh.” You said.

 

Comfortingly, Clint patted your rear softly. “It’s okay, Sugar. I can’t be mad; extenuating circumstances. Though I am jealous I didn’t get to dance with you like that. Or get hit with that sort of pleasure wave. Because, wow. Sounds like the best drug in the world. You could totally be a mutant drug dealer. I’d buy.”

 

You punched Clint in the shoulder.

 

To be fair, it wasn’t very hard, but it was a punch all the same. “Ohmigod shut up-” you squealed.

 

“Anyway,” Tony started, “(Y/N), to be honest…I haven’t been able to get those images out of my head. They’re burned into the backs of my eyelids. I see them when I close my eyes, my mind drifts to it whenever I’m not working on anything. And remembering what you tasted like…I know you hit me with some magical whammy that’s out of your control, and I thought putting time and space between us would help shake this off. It hasn’t. So I told Feathers and proposed that I… How to phrase this delicately?” 

 

He paused. Wow. Was Tony really out of words? He leaned forward, setting down his glass. Rubbed at his eyes.

 

“He wants to see if banging your brains out gets it out of his system,” Clint supplied, patting your butt again.

 

“WHAT?!” This time, you couldn’t control the volume of your voice. Both Clint and Tony winced. And then started speaking at the same time.

 

“You don’t have to do it-”

 

“It’s just a theory-”

 

“I would never make you do anything you didn’t want to-”

 

“Seriously, just a theory, I asked for data -not THAT kind of data-”

 

You were quiet, their voices running together. You were considering things. And maybe you were using your powers a little, sampling how they actually felt about it. Clint was…actually okay with it. There was the glimmer of green: his friendship for Tony. Deep pink for you, of new love, deepening. A band of cool gold: the trust he had in the both of you. 

 

And Tony? 

 

Purple desire, mutating, mixing, shifting: yellow confusion, orange interest, pink love that flitted back into the purple of desire, skirted from deepening into a red of romance. That…was surprising. Clint’s emotions didn’t run that deep towards you. You peered closer - huh. The way that it kept changing, apparently Tony wasn’t too sure, either. You didn’t want to dwell on that. You needed to know how he felt about this - how he would feel about it in the morning, for days after. 

 

Then you had your answer. An unwavering current of gold lay beneath the flow of colors, like finding a diamond at the bottom of a stream – and you almost choked up. Tony trusted you. Trusted you with all of those intimacies, of what you saw in him and what he saw in you, and would forever remain between the two of you. You’d seen all that you needed to. You knew how you felt.

 

“You know what, boys? Why not.”

 

Your statement brought the conversation to standstill. Both of them looked at you, eyes agog.

 

“Seriously. Why not. How do you want to do this, though? Because…logistics.” 

 

Tony gulped down the rest of his drink. You didn’t need to use your powers to tell that he was still conflicted - but eager. Clint’s reassuring caresses on your ass turned into a slow,  palming of your cheeks, one after the other, steadily inching your dress up higher. 

 

“I’ve got an idea,” he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Monday - have an update!


	6. I will never, never let you go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get explicit from here, y'all. Just an FYI!

Tony’s hands weren’t as callused as Clint’s. They trembled now, running up the smooth flesh of your thighs. He paused, halfway up. Looked at you. 

 

You were watching him with heavily hooded eyes, the calm thud of Clint’s heart resonating against your chest. His arms were loose around your waist, holding you close to him. His erection prodded against your lower back. You were lounging between Clint’s legs, your legs stretched out luxuriously on the long couch. Tony was between your legs, steadily running his hands up from your ankles, up your calves, your knees, and settled now on your mid-thigh. He swallowed, hard.

 

“….You sure about this, (your name)?”

 

Tony’s eyes, in the darkness of the Tower, were illuminated by a light all his own. An unguarded, vulnerable Tony that shone through. You looked back at Clint. His look was that of trust, curiosity that danced on the edge of unmitigated hedonism. He turned your face to his, and smashed his lips into yours, a blistering kiss that sent warmth spiraling down into your toes. You didn’t realize that you were openly groaning into the kiss until you heard Tony exhale.

 

“I’m not usually a voyeur, but wow.” 

 

You snickered into the kiss, causing Clint to ease the two of you apart.

 

“Got somethin’ to say, Stark?” Clint’s tone was darkly bantering.

 

“I think I’ve got a better use for his mouth.” You shifted, rocking your hips into Tony’s hands. Tony’s smile stretched into the self-confident expression that you knew so well - and occasionally loathed.

 

“Can’t argue with that.” Tony slid forward, resting on his stomach. His hands ran from the inside of your thighs to the outside, lifting your skirt up higher. Your breath hitched in your throat. Your heart fluttered, threatened to break loose from behind your ribs. Entirely exposed to Tony, the air was cool against your damp folds. A long exhale from Tony, and he looked up at you, eyes brimming with lust. His eyes drifted back to your cunt, then to your face again, biting his lower lip. You could tell he was searching for something to say - and not finding it.

 

“My God,” he finally exhaled. His breath was warm against your core - you could almost feel his lips ghosting across you. 

 

The rise and fall of Clint’s chest against your back slowed; he turned your face back to his. Pressed his nose to yours - and then his lips to yours. Sighing into the kiss, it turned into a low squeal. Tony’s tongue was pressed solidly against you, dipping into your body. Insistent, his tongue delved deeper into you, his fingers splaying across your thighs. Again and again, his tongue dipped into you, your mouth otherwise occupied by Clint’s, only the smallest gasps escaping you. Clint’s tongue brushed against your lips, and you eagerly opened your mouth, in time to feel Tony’s tongue slip from out of you, along the lines of your labia to flick, ever so softly, against your clit. You pulled away from Clint now with a breathless shriek, your legs falling open wider. Clint’s erection against your lower back was rigid steel. Fumbling, you reached behind you to stroke him through his pants. He hissed, bucking his hips hard into your hand. Rolling your fingers over the length of him, you could feel the fabric strained across his head grow damp.

 

Rough fingers slipped from your inner thighs to draw long loops around your entrance, Tony’s head bobbing in time with the involuntary spasms of your hips, keeping his lips wrapped firm around your clit. You were cresting higher, higher, higher still - 

 

Then Tony pulled away.

 

Your eyes snapped open, and your hips fell, unceremoniously, back down into the couch. Your heart was racing, the world spun before your eyes.

 

Tony licked his lips with a sinful look. “Honey.”

 

“What…?” It was getting a little easier to speak.You could feel Clint shifting behind you. 

 

“Lift up,” he said, softly. As you did, he slipped from under you, careful to position you comfortably back onto the pillows. Clint shifted again, on his knees beside you. In the time it’d taken for him to move from supporting you to where he was now, he’d undid his pants, and his cock was out, straining in front of you, the head flushed deeply. Without thinking, you trailed your fingers along his head. He sighed, and his cock twitched into your grasp.

 

“Honey.” Tony repeated. “Tastes like literal honey.” He ran his fingers against you. His smile was naughty as he held up fingers that glistened from you. “Is that part of your power?” His smile grew all the more impish. “Is that how you got your nickname, ‘Sugarbee’?” The teasing tone in his voice was enough to undo you.

 

Beside you, Clint laughed. “I’ll have to taste for myself,” he mused.

 

“I think I’m in a better position to taste you…” 

 

Between your thighs, Tony snorted.

 

“Okay, so it’s not my best line!” You huffed. “But I can totally put my money where my mouth is. Look.” With that, you took in Clint’s swelled head, feeling yourself growing wetter with his answering moan of your name. Taking that as his cue, Tony delved back between your thighs, slipping one hand between his own legs. To Clint’s credit, he didn’t instantly buck into your mouth as you steadily slipped more of him into you. He was holding still, so still that when your palms pressed into his thighs, you could feel them tremble beneath you. Not like it was easy to concentrate on Clint, not with the way Tony was teasing your clit with the very tip of his tongue, two fingers sliding around your entrance, never inching further in. 

 

Clint’s cock throbbed in your mouth as you pulled back, dragging your tongue under his shaft. The timing couldn’t have been better - a particularly deft twist of Tony’s fingers caused you to cry out, your hips rising to meet his tongue and fingers. Gently, Clint turned your head back to his cock, pulsing against your cheek. Rubbing your lips across it, you took his head in again, as Tony gently pressed two fingers into you, his lips returning to your clit to suck the bead of flesh. You whimpered, the sound muffled by Clint’s cock in your mouth. He ran his fingers through your hair, down the sides of your face.

 

“I don’t…I don’t have long,” he gasped, as you swirled your tongue around the fluted edge of his head. 

 

All you could do was whine in return. Tony had been pushing you closer and closer to the edge, and his tongue was relentless against your clit, his fingers inching in slowly, spreading you. At Clint’s admission, he redoubled his efforts, pressing his fingers all the way into you, pressing down on your clit with his lips - before slipping his fingers out of you, the pressure of his lips against your clit lightening to a ghosting. Soon, you managed, in your lust addled brain, to work out a rhythm - when Tony pressed into you, you swallowed more of Clint’s cock. Just when it was starting to flow, your vision started sparking into vibrant colors around the edges, and your thrusts into Tony’s mouth and fingers grew more erratic. You sucked hard on Clint, working your face harder up and down his cock, until spit coated your lips and dribbled down your chin. One final swipe, twist of Tony’s fingers, and you tumbled over the edge, nearly howling in your orgasm. The sound was muffled by Clint’s swearing of your name, his cock spasming, sending jets of cum into your mouth. You swallowed as much as you could, but long trails of his cum joined the spit trailing down your chin. 

 

You nearly fell away from him, boneless in the aftermath of your orgasm. Clint leaned over you, his softening cock slipping from your lips. You panted open-mouthed now, tingling all the way through the bottom of your toes. Shakily, you reached up to run a hand through your sweaty hair, moving it away from your face. Between your legs, Tony shifted, pressing a biting kiss to each of your thighs before moving to rest on his elbows. Clint sat down heavily next to you, stumbling slightly over his pants around his ankles.

 

No one spoke. You were all breathing heavily, and you nestled further back into the couch, basking in the afterglow. “Beneath” you, Tony sat up, moving to sit behind you, and titled his head back, inspecting the ceiling. Remnants of your cum glistened in his beard, on the sides of his face. His eyes were thoughtful, weighing information. You twisted to face him, your dress still bunched around your waist. 

 

“So…?” You were honestly curious.

 

“Did it work?” Clint finished. He was sitting on your left side, and moved closer to you, resting his head on your shoulder. It was all too easy to caress his hair, and he leaned further into you, kissing the side of your neck.

 

“Yes….and no,” Tony sighed. “Now I’ve got another problem.”

 

“Yeah?” You and Clint spoke in unison, before you both started laughing. Tony mock-glared at the two of you.

 

“This is serious,” he huffed.

 

“Okay, I’m sorry, Tony,” you said, between laughter. “What’s the problem?”

 

“One: I need to know where the hell you got your nickname from-”

 

Your scoffing cut him off. “Tony, really? I thought you were being serious.”

 

“I am. And Two: That just made it worse. I need more. Need to feel you,” he turned to face you. His cock tented inside of his dress pants.

 

“And I have a problem, too,” piped up Clint. “I want to see if you’re as sweet as your nickname.”

 

“Guys…” But you were already gesturing for Clint and Tony to switch places.

 


	7. So don't forget who's taking you home (And in whose arms you're gonna be)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint tries to make you breakfast. Tony helps. Sort of.

Shrill beeping yanked you awake. It was only after you’d bolted straight up in bed that you smelled the smoke. Your body moving before your brain could fully catch up, you jumped out of the bed and dashed for the door. The door knob was cool under your palm, and you burst through the door into the hallway, following the source of smoke. It crept in gray wisps along the ceiling, getting darker as you rounded the bend into the kitchen.

 

And stopped.

 

Because in front of a smoldering stove, Clint and Tony were arguing.

 

“You know, for someone that essentially lived on the road as a carney, you’d know how to cook,” Tony was turning away from the stove, holding out a pan that had a charred mass in the center of it. Waving the smoke away from his face, he snorted. “How do you mess up eggs?”

 

“It just happened,” Clint’s voice was near a whine; the most petulant you’d ever heard him. “Dammit. I wanted to do one nice thing for her.”

 

“You think last night wasn’t ‘nice’?” The suggestion in Tony’s voice was so heavy it brought heat to your cheeks. Last night _had_ been nice. “Because it was ‘nice’, and ‘incredible’ and ‘mindblowing’ and adjectives into infinity.”

 

Silence.  Clint sighed. “You know what I meant, Stark.”

 

Turning his back to the stove, Tony eyeballed the pan in his hand, weighing if it could be salvaged. With a quirk of his eyebrows, he set it on the counter.

 

You took a step forward, and Clint was the first to turn to you. His smile made him look like a boy who’d broken his mother’s vase. Tony’s look was warm, but quickly turned salacious.

 

“Well, this is certainly a nice wake up call,” he dragged his eyes from your feet to the top of your head. 

 

It was only then that you’d realized you were totally naked.

 

___

 

“The fire alarm woke me up.” 

 

Clint slid a cup of coffee in front of you, and you cupped it between your palms. Snuggling into Clint’s oversized shirt, you shifted, settling your legs under you. “So, you know, I thought, ‘I need to find the source of the fire so I can put it out.’ I work at a school, guys. Teacher’s instinct,” you tapped the side of your head. "Kids set the school on fire all the time."

 

“Coming to save the day bare ass naked, huh?” Clint nestled in beside you. You chuckled, raising the cup to your mouth. The fragrance caressed your nose, and you sighed in contentment.

 

“I’m pretty sure that pan is DOA,” Tony was next to you now, settling in on the couch. He had his cup of coffee in the other hand, and stretched out his legs, crossing them lazily at the ankle. “And so’s breakfast. Unless…” He gave you a puppy dog look that, to his credit, _almost_ worked.

 

“Wow, Stark. You expect me to make breakfast? How chauvinistic of you.”

 

You were teasing - but you also weren’t about to move from between the two of them. Which was just fine with Clint. He pressed closer into you, resting his head on your shoulder. Tony glanced at the two of you. His mouth twitched into a quick smile, then he took a sip of coffee. In the early morning light, the common room of the Tower was bathed in golden light, butter yellow melting into white as it reflected off of the surrounding sky scrapers. You sighed, enjoying the view.

 

“So, about last night - I don’t want to come between whatever is happening with you guys,” Tony abruptly said. You nearly spat out your coffee. Clint didn’t budge.

 

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you bumped Clint so that he sat up. “I guess we should talk about it like adults, huh?” Your voice was more sheepish than ashamed. “I dunno…I mean…I guess….how are you feeling, Tony?” 

 

“Like I had some of the most mind-blowing sex in my entire life for hours on end. Sore in places I didn’t think I could be sore.” He chuckled at the face you were making, but it wasn’t unkind or infuriatingly Tony Stark. “But whatever that was, I got it out. Thanks? You wrung me out like a sponge. And that mouth, my God. If I could put a patent on it, I’d increase my company’s holdings fourfold.”

 

You couldn’t even blush - not when Clint was chuckling into his hand. Instead, you huffed a bit, leaning forward. “I really am sorry about that night at the club. I didn’t think that…you know.” Words were just stumbling blocks to the truth. “I just…”

 

“You’re a red-blooded young woman that has desires,” Tony said, lifting his cup to his lips. “And so on and so forth.” 

 

“Okay, yeah, maybe, but-”

 

Clint shifted. His lips were on yours - warm, redolent of coffee. “Shh.”

 

This close to him, you couldn’t help but to look at him a little cross-eyed. He grinned, and booped your nose.

 

“They’ll get stuck that way.”

 

Shifting your butt on the couch, you tried to put space between you and Clint so you could give him a better look. You were only able to put a few inches between you before Tony settling down beside you stopped you. Sharing unspoken signals, the two men inched closer. Clint snuggled against you, his head on your shoulder. Tony turned so that his back was against your side, facing the window. His back rose and fell with each steady breath. Before long, he tilted his head back against your shoulder. 

 

Yeah. Things would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, as they say, is that.
> 
> At least, for now.
> 
> I do plan on working on a second part, but I'll switch it to third person to make it a bit easier on me to write, and hopefully, update on a more regular basis. I didn't have a Beta for this, and there's a ton of quibbles I have with it and things I'm not entirelllyyyy happy with. Then I have to remind myself that this is fanfic, and fanfic is supposed to be fun! And, also - Clint and Tony totally need some love (and I say this as a relative old hag on the internet that likes a little mileage on her men ;) ). 
> 
> I hope I entertained everyone that came through and spent some time reading this. Thank you all for your comments, views, subscriptions, bookmarks! 
> 
> Every time I get one, it honestly makes my day.


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